Sex Ed at MapleGrove

My headache got worse. Luke and I were walking in the most fabulous dog park in Winnipeg on Saturday. Named after a rugby player, I can only assume, or perhaps its scenic vistas, Maplegrove dog park fits the specifications needed for all dogs and dog lovers. Wide open fields, plenty of roadways with woodchip paths to follow, and lots and lots of dogs. Big dogs. Small ones. And those little things that are in between and can't quite make up their minds if they're meant to romp with the big boys or crouch with the little ones.
My dog Root Beer is one of the big girls. With her flouncy tail riding high, she looks like a queen. Her long, black fur picks up every burr for miles but her laughing eyes belittle any twinge of pain felt when these alien hitchhikers are given the tug off.
We had not been to the park in quite the while. Luke possibly has H1N1 and I have its sister cold 0NoNotMe2. On Saturday, however, we tried.
Root Beer went first. Before we could get the leash on her to walk the 25 feet to the park's open area, she was off. The park was crowded. Every mother, son, daughter and father were there walking every type of mutt imaginable. Root Beer was a lady. After sniffing the butt of the nearest and her dearest, she went foraging for wood ticks and burrs. Five dogs followed her. They romped through tall grasses and slipped through mud puddles that still had the sheen of a day's snow.
Whistling, I carried on. My normal social behaviour hiding behind my Foster Grants and the most massive headache I had ever experienced while upright. Gingerly we headed out through the forest, hitting the river trail and the day's sunshine.
"Oh boy, that's enough for me," I said. Calling the boy and the dog away from the water's edge.
On our way back to our car, Luke, Root Beer and I saw what can only be called a "Mother Nature" event. A pack of about 20 dogs circling two dogs humping. Humans yelling. Mothers calling their children. One lady, who I can only assume doesn't understand the difference between human and cannine, yelling at her dog "Mike" to get "off" and that she was "watching him."
You can only say "Huh" to such a statement and keep walking.
As we opened the door for our young female, Luke looked at me and asked why everybody was yelling at their dogs.
I rubbed my temples, wished for migraine Advil, and like all good mothers before me said, "Ask your father."